


Home.

by cutenewt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-10-12 02:15:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10479828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cutenewt/pseuds/cutenewt
Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester were taken into care at the young ages of two and six, after being found alone in a motel by social workers. Ever since they've struggled to fit in, and tried running away a handful of times. Once they get threatened with being split up, Dean knows he has to start pretending to fit in... for Sam. But, it's hard. Until the two boys get fostered by someone who actually might hold a little love in her heart, along with the other teen who takes respite there. Maybe they'll even find a home within.





	1. Chapter 1

 

~

_**Friday,** _  
_**2nd February, 1986.** _  
_**9.30p.m.** _

 

“Hey, Sammy?” Dean whispers, after hearing quiet crying.

 

“Y – yeah?”

 

“One day, me ‘n’ you… we’ll get outta here, okay?”

 

“Go find Dad?” Sam asks.

 

“Go find Dad.” Dean repeats.

 

A silence falls over them for a few moments, and the sobbing noises die down. “For real?” Sam’s voice is sleepy.

 

“For real.”

 

Then, he falls asleep.

~

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

~

_**Monday,** _   
_**5th March, 1989.** _   
_**8.10a.m.** _

 

The bustle in the overcrowded care home is always fun in the mornings. There's eight kids in total – including Sam and Dean. Almost all of them are of school age, so they all walk together each morning, apart from the one three year old who gets taken to daycare… and, usually, if Dean can help it, apart from him too.

 

“Dean, you gotta wake up now!” A jolt to his shoulder sends him almost falling out of bed.

 

“Go away, Sam.” He grumbles, burying himself deeper underneath the duvet on the top bunk.

 

“I'll get Hannah!” The stubborn six year old snaps.

 

Dean sits up. “Go to school. I'll meet you there,” he clearly lies.

 

A knock at their door distracts both of the brothers. Sam chews in the cuff of his secondhand sweater. “Who's there?” He yells defensively.

 

“It's Hannah… are you both dressed? Ten minute mark!” The woman tells them.

 

“Dean’s n–” Sam gets shoved to the floor, before he can finish tattling on his elder brother.

 

The sound of Hannah’s footsteps withdrawing echo away, until they disappear. Dean looks over onto the floor, where Sam is now sat with folded arms. Dean offers his younger brother a hand to help him up. “Sorry, Sammy.” He says, pulling the lanky, little kid back up to his feet again.

 

It doesn't take Dean long to get ready for school. He tells Sam to just go, or he’ll be late, but he doesn't. Sam waits in the kitchen, talking to Hannah about homework. He seems to get along well with her, and it usually irks Dean. He isn't sure why. It’s most likely because he doesn't trust literally anyone. Pretty much every single child shrink who's been forced into a room with him has said that… and, he's overheard it a lot too.

 

“I'm ready,” he appears in the kitchen.

 

Sam gives him an apple, because otherwise he’ll have the tendency to accidentally skip breakfast. Hannah drives them to school, and drops Jasper off at daycare. The toddler has only been with them for a few months, and he barely says a word to anyone. But, for some strange reason he levitates to Dean. He doesn't mind.

 

“Have fun!” Hannah waves out of the window.

 

Sam waves back, but Dean doesn't. He just keeps his head down, and walks into school. Sam has to run to keep up, almost tripping over his untied shoes. “Ow, Dean -- wait!” He stumbles up the steps, trying not to be weighed down by his backpack.

 

The elder sibling rolls his eyes, and tugs Sam out the way of another late comer by the school entrance. Whilst waiting for him to tie his shoes, Dean looks nervously around his surroundings. He toys with the hem of his flannel shirt – they don't get much money to buy clothes, and usually get given them (which, by the way, always makes you look uncool.) But, this is his favourite shirt, so he wears it to school in an attempt to fit in.

 

~

 

**_3.40p.m._ **

 

Dean looks into the kitchen, checking if Hannah is in there cooking dinner like usual. When he sees her, he pulls the crumpled up piece of paper inside of his trouser pocket. “Can you sign this, please?” He mumbles, walking into the room.

 

She looks up from the oven, and takes the messy bit of paper from his hand. “Another detention?” Hannah sighs quietly, scribbling on the paper with the pen out of her pocket.

 

“What? The kid said my shirt wasn't nice.” Dean argues, folding his arms.

 

“So, you…”

 

“Threw a pencil at him,” he explains.

 

“Naturally.” She answers, handing the detention slip back.

 

Dean looks at it, and then looks back up at her. “Don't tell Sam,” he lowers his voice, and she nods.

 

She knows Dean tries at school, and she knows that kids are mean. Hannah knows she should probably be mad at him, but the boy doesn't need it. “Take this up to Sam with you,” Hannah takes a candy bar from the cupboard, and hands it to him.

 

“So… you're not super mad?” Dean frowns, tentatively stepping forwards to take the candy.

 

“I understand why you did it. Just… next time, please don't throw something. Tell a teacher,” Hannah says.

 

Dean scoffs. “They won't do anything. Who’re they going to believe – the kid who has no parents and always gets in trouble, or the kid who's parents are best friends with the local priest?” He snaps.

 

Hannah sighs. “Try, for me?” She asks.

 

“Whatever,” Dean turns his back. “Maybe Sam will fall victim for your kindness act, but I won't. Nobody is nice,” he walks away.

 

Dean walks up the stairs, and into his bedroom. He closes the door behind him, but notices Sam already asleep on the bottom bunk. Rolling his eyes again, he puts the candy bar down on the desk that somehow manages to fit in their box sized bedroom.

~


	3. Chapter 3

 

~

_**Tuesday,** _   
_**6th March, 1989.** _   
_**12.30p.m.** _

 

Sam’s second grade teacher stands beside him, as he swings his legs back and forth underneath the examination bed in the nurse’s office. “You'd better call his parents or guardians… young man shouldn't be at school with a temperature like this!” The nurse tuts, and he frowns.

 

“I can be at school if I want to,” he grumbles, hopping down from the bed with the help of his teacher.

 

She sighs, knowing full well he gets his snarky comments from his… more troublesome elder sibling. “Thank you,” the woman tells the nurse, and then they leave the room.

 

Miss Warren takes Sam to the office, where he's made to sit on a chair with an ice pack on his head. He thinks it's rather unnecessary, and complains about this to Hannah when she arrives to come and collect him. She holds his hand on the way out to the van.

 

“You look pasty… why didn't you tell anyone you weren't feeling good?” She asks, lifting him into the vehicle.

 

“I am feeling good,” Sam shrugs.

 

Hannah shakes her head. Both Sam and Dean are extremely stubborn kids – always have been, and most likely always will be. As soon as the car starts moving, Sam falls asleep. Hannah carries him into the house when they're back, and has to wake him to give him medicine.

 

~

**_4.05p.m._ **

 

“Why isn't Dean back yet?” Sam asks Hannah, who enters the living room with some fresh water.

 

She glances down at Sam, who's lying down now in his pyjamas, and cuddling his teddy. “Uh…” she tries to think of a lie.

 

“It's four already… does he have detention again?” The boy sits up, rubbing his eyes as he squints at the clock on the wall.

 

“You're a clever kid, you know that?” Hannah says, sitting down at the end of the couch.

Sam shrugs. “I guess so.” He yawns.

 

“Dean will be home soon, okay?” She says, but Sam’s already fallen back to sleep.

 

Sure enough, Dean does arrive home about fifteen minutes later. He hurries into the house as fast as he can, skidding to a halt when he spots Sammy in the small living room. He turns around, almost bumping into Hannah from being in such a rush.

 

“What happened?” He demands.

 

“Nothing, it's only a fever. It'll pass in a few days – teacher said a lot of the kids have come down with it… hello to you too, by the way.” Hannah replies.

 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” he mumbles, making his way towards the staircase instead of sticking around to chat.

 

~

 

The rest of that night Dean barely slept. Sam was awake most of the night, not feeling great – so, Dean told him stories to help. He told stories that were true, and some that were made up… all about how cool their Dad was. Hannah heard him at one point through the door, before coming into their room with more medicine. She's read their case file over and over again… and, one thing is for certain – Dean’s idolisation of his Father really shouldn't exist.

 

**_8.07a.m._ **

 

“Dean?” A tiny voice whispers, followed by someone prodding the side of his face.

 

Knowing it's Sam, he opens one eye. “Hmm?” He mumbles sleepily.

 

“Hannah said she wants to talk to you,” Sam’s face is invading personal space as of right now.

 

Dean groans in annoyance. “Tell her I’m sleaping,” he grunts.

 

“But, you're not asleep,” the kid tilts his head to one side, a confused look upon his washed out face.

 

“Just tell her!” The brother snaps, and Sam jumps down from the ladder.

 

He runs out into the hallway. “He said he's sleeping,” Dean face palms himself so hard that it's most likely to have left a mark.

 

~

 

It turns out Hannah wanted to just make sure he was awake early – because, she knows he would try and stay home to take care of Sam. But, the school already despise of his behaviour enough, so Hannah makes sure that he's driven to school this morning.

 

Dean tried his best to behave today. Even when the kid behind him was incessantly kicking at his chair, and when his teacher told him off for not concentrating. He had to bite his tongue, for wanting to say ‘I'm using up all of my energy on trying not to turn around and throw m history book at Gregory’s face, Miss.’ It was a good job that he didn't, because Miss Madeline certainly has a form of strong hatred for Dean – he's sure of it.

 

He even fell asleep in his last lesson. He probably shouldn't have stayed up all night reassuring Sam. His math teacher didn't feel very sympathetic towards his reasons to ‘being rude’ though. He got sent to the headmaster, and had to write a letter saying sorry. At least he didn't get detention this time.

 

**_3.35p.m._ **

 

As soon as Dean gets home, he avoids Hannah – he can hear her lecturing one of the elder residents, in the living room. He also tiptoes past the office, where Marlene – the older and much stricter woman usually sits. Dean actually makes it all the way up to his bedroom without being disturbed. He should hurry back more often, because clearly they weren't expecting any of the kids from school so soon.

 

Opening the door as quietly as he can, Dean sneaks inside. He can see Sam lying on the bottom bunk, with his eyes closed. “Sneaky,” someone behind him frightens the damn life out of him, so badly that he jumps and trips over a toy car that's been left lying around.

 

“Dean?” Sam wakes up from the sudden noise, squinting through the tiredness to see his brother now lying on his back on the floor.

 

Dean glares up at a guilty looking Hannah. “I'm okay, Sammy.” He mumbles, standing up and dusting himself down.

 

“We can go to the doctors now,” Hannah looks toward Sam.

 

“Okay!” The kid hops down from the bed.

 

“I thought you said he was fine?” Dean asks, raising his eyebrows in a questioning manner.

 

Hannah gives Sam his sneakers to put on, and then turns back to his elder brother. “Just to be safe… don't worry,” she reassures.

 

Dean doesn't reply. He just climbs up to his top bunk, and waits for them to leave.

 

~

 

**_4.30p.m._ **

 

“Sammy isn't even home yet… I hope everything's okay, ya know?” Dean mumbles, stacking another wooden block on top of the tower.

 

He looks at the toddler in front of him, silently questioning his life choices and why he's confiding in a three year old. Jasper knocks the tower down, and a smile spreads across his face. Dean pretends to look shocked at his actions, and then starts to build the tower up again.

 

Dean’s lying on his stomach, using one hand to rest underneath his chin. He makes the tower, and scrunches shut his eyes when Jasper knocks it down with more confidence this time. “Woah!” Dean exclaims, as a block hits him on the head.

 

Jasper laughs. “You're such a monster!” Dean grins, but as he's about to complete the tower for… well, he's lost count… the front door opens a few metres away from them.

 

Seconds after it closes, Sam runs past the living room. “He's in here, Sam!” Hannah calls, and Sam quickly backtracks.

 

“I got you a lollipop!” The kid runs in, looking proud whilst brandishing the two candies in front of him.

 

Jasper looks up at the candy. “Thanks, Sammy.” Dean takes it. “Can Jasper have mine though? I'm not hungry,” he lies.

 

Sam looks deep in thought for a few moments. “Okay!” He shrugs.

 

“It doesn't sound like you're resting in there, Samuel.” The boy frowns at the mention of his full name.

 

He sits on the sofa. “Am too!” Sammy calls out, but then starts coughing.

 

“Hey, maybe we should go upstairs?” Dean suggests, glancing down to see that Jasper is clearly occupied with his candy now as opposed to tower building.

“Okay,” Sam says, more weak this time.

 

The brothers go upstairs, and Dean waves to Jasper before he leaves. “Thanks for my candy,” Jasper whispers (shocking Dean, but he doesn't show it).

 

“You're welcome,” he smiles.

 

“Who’re you talking to?” Sam asks, his thumb in his mouth, making it hard for him to be understood by most.

 

“Nobody,” Dean mutters back.

 

~

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

~

_**Friday,** _   
_**2nd April, 1991.** _   
_**3.35p.m.** _

 

Hannah becomes abruptly distracted from signing papers in the office, when the front door swings open and hits the wall, followed by the sounds of an argument. She runs out of the room, in an attempt to figure out what's going on.

 

“What's going on here?” She asks, hand on hip.

 

The girl who's just kicked off her shoes ignores Hannah’s question, and pushes past her to get upstairs. “You're welcome,” she scoffs sarcastically in Sam’s direction.

 

“Sam, what happened?” Hannah asks, leading him into the kitchen.

 

As she guides him to sit down on a chair, Hannah notices that he's clutching at his arm. “Who did that to you?” Sam ignores her question, staring down at his untied sneakers.

 

“Sam… where's Dean?” Hannah crouches down so that she's in his forced eyeline now.

 

Tears tumble down his flushed cheeks. “H – he got into a fight, ‘cause someone was picking on me,” he gulps down a sob. “Dean started hitting the guy, and – and a teacher came outside, and Lacey grabbed me and pulled me up from the ground,” he explains, fighting with the tears that mess up his shaky speech.

 

Hannah sighs. This isn't the first time this has happened… in fact, she's been noticing Dean coming back from school later and bruised a lot more recently. “Go up to your room.” She tells him softly.

 

The pair of them both become startled moments later, at the sound of the front door swinging open even harder than the time before. Hannah gets up to her feet. _“Winchester!”_ She yells, awaiting Dean’s arrival.

 

Sure enough, he appears in the doorway. Sam turns around, his eyes blurred from pools of water, but nobody could miss the obvious bloody nose and cut lip that the eldest Winchester kid is sporting at this current moment in time. “What?” He grumbles, using the shirt of his flannel to swipe underneath his injury.

 

“I'd like to talk to you,” Hannah says. “In private.”

 

She steps ahead of him, patting Sam’s shoulder before she leaves. They get inside the office, and Hannah closes the door. “I didn't get a detention, if that's what you're implying.” Dean leans up against the wall, and folds his arms.

 

“Dean –”

 

“The teacher who tried to split us up was only a supply. I got out of there when he tried to talk to the fourth grader who thought he could go up against me,” he laughs.

 

Hannah sighs.

 

“This has got to stop. You're going to get suspended,” she tells him seriously.

 

He shrugs.

 

“You don't care?” Hannah sounds slightly defensive.

“No. Haven't you realised that by now?” Dean snaps coldly.

 

“Well, I care!” She raises her voice, making him stop in his tracks on the way to leave through the door.

 

He keeps his back facing her whilst talking. “No, you don't. Your act may work on Sammy, but not me. Nobody cares. But, I care about Sam. I care about his future. And, I don't want some bully making him feel like getting good grades means he's just some ‘nerd’,” Dean inhales sharply, getting caught up in the moment. “I couldn't give a shit about what happens to me, as long as Sam is okay.” He turns around just to speak this final sentence, his eyes dark, but a look of sadness is carried deep inside them.

 

Then, Hannah just lets him walk out the door. She stares as he walks away, leaving the door wide open before her.

 

~

 

**_5.30p.m._ **

 

Dean didn't come downstairs for dinner. Sam bought him up a sandwich. He didn't eat it, until Sam had gone back downstairs again.

 

“Dean?” There's a quiet voice calling him from outside the bedroom door.

 

“Sam, this is your room too,” he mumbles, getting down from the top bunk to see his brother.

 

He opens the door, faced with Sam. “Hi,” he mumbles.

 

“How's your arm?”

 

“Hannah said it might be sprained,” he doesn't reciprocate the eye contact.

 

Dean goes back into the bedroom. “And, she says you owe a dollar to the swear jar. _You_ said shit –” the younger sibling clasps his hand over his mouth upon realising what he's just repeated. “Now we both owe a dollar,” he grumbles.

 

His elder brother chuckles quietly. Sam can always cheer him up somewhat.

 

~

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

~

 

_**A few days later…** _

 

Hannah stares at the wall clock. The aroma of strong coffee fills the air, and all she can hear is one big blur of voices amongst the sound of ticking. “Hannah, what do you think?” Marlene says, cracking through her state of blur.

 

“No.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“No… I don't think splitting Sam and Dean up is a good idea. We tried it once, and Sam got himself in hospital with the pneumonia he experienced after running away. It's not good for them,” she states coldly.

 

“Well, if he had the chance to be away from Dean, he'd most likely end up thriving. Sam could have a happy life –”

 

“And, what about Dean?”

 

“Well, we can save them all, Hannah.”

 

The harsh noise of Hannah’s chair scraping violently along the floor makes Marlene and the visiting social worker both jump. “I won't be a part of such a one sided discussion. There's honestly no point in me being here, since clearly your interests are not at the heart of the kids. Just the money.” And, she walks right out of the door.

 

~

 

**_Monday,  
5th April, 1993.  
5.30p.m._ **

 

“Ms. Harvelle, do come in.” Marlene smiles wide, opening the front door for the visitor to walk inside.

 

They both go towards the office, where Hannah is already sat waiting. She has the files of the kids who are still inside of the care home on the table… two years have past, and a lot of the occupants have left – Lacey rents her own apartment now, having grown old enough. Jasper was adopted almost three years ago, and three other kids have left since then. Another two have come to seek a place to stay since then, so now there's a total of five living in the care home.

 

“Welcome to Lawrence, how may we be of assistance?” Hannah smiles warmly, a genuine gesture that Ms. Harvelle returns.

 

“Well, I'll leave you two to it.” Marlene interrupts, closing the door quite obnoxiously loud.

 

The woman in question takes a seat at the desk Hannah is sat behind. “I'm looking to foster,” she explains. “Do you have any children who's hopes to be adopted are particularly low?” Ms. Harvelle questions.

 

Hannah glances down at the files, and her eyes hover over two names specifically. “We have two boys – aged ten and fourteen – uh, they've been here basically all their lives.”

 

“But?”

 

“But… it's been hard to find anyone who will take them both, and, uh.. keep them,” she mutters.

 

“Could I see their files, please?” Hannah slides them across the table.

 

The woman reads all about Sam and Dean’s past. She reads about their abandonment, and the records of each time they ran away. “I'd like to foster these two,” she looks up at Hannah, no hesitation in her voice whatsoever.

 

“Don't – don't you want a visit session first?” She's clearly confused.

 

Shaking her head, Ms. Harvelle chuckles. “Could I speak to them now? Then I'll fill in the forms,” she asks.

 

Hannah seems almost speechless. “I'll, uh, I'll get them both now. I'll get Dean first, actually.” She mumbles the last part more to herself, and then hurries back out into the hallway.

 

“Dean!” She yells up the stairs.

 

The teenager emerges after the third time she calls, and ends up midway on the staircase. “What?” He grumbles.

 

“Could you come downstairs, please?” She asks him.

 

“Why?”

 

“There's someone I'd like you to talk to.”

 

Dean groans unnecessarily loud, before thumping his bare feet down each stair. He comes to a halt at the bottom, looking at the stranger now stood beside Hannah. “Hi, I’m Ellen.” She extends her hand for him to shake, but Dean simply stares at it – arms still tightly folded together.

 

“You come to ask about my brother? Well, sorry to disappoint, lady – but, we’re a package deal.” He turns back towards the stairs.

 

Ellen laughs, and Dean stops. “Could I accept that deal?” He spins around so fast he gets a little dizzy.

 

“Excuse me?” Genuine shock crosses over his freckled features.

 

“Could we talk for a moment?” Ellen gestures towards the office.

 

Dean nods warily. Hannah lets them talk alone, but stands closeby outside of the door. This could be promising.

 

There's two chairs in front of the desk that Marlene usually parks herself behind. Dean sits on the left, and Ellen on the right. They tilt the chairs so that they're now directly opposite one another.

 

“Would you be okay with me fostering you and your little brother?” She starts the conversation, getting straight to the point at hand.

 

“What's the catch?” He still doesn't seem to be fully convinced with the whole situation.

“There isn't one,” the woman says.

 

“There's three other kids here… why not one of them?”

 

“They're all under the age of ten. Easy to be picked for adoption or foster care. You and Sam are already over the age that most couples come to choose,” she speaks the truth, and Dean knows it.

 

He takes a shaky breath inwards. I mean, he honestly never thought he'd get out of here before the age of eighteen – if running away wasn't in the equation, of course. “Well…” Dean is stuck on what to say. _Can he really afford to argue this one? Think of Sammy._

 

“I already have a daughter. She's called Jo, and she's a little older than you. When she was a kid, her Dad passed away. I'd always wanted more, so I started fostering when she turned seven… ten years later, and I've helped over twenty kids make a life for themselves.”

 

“Why're you telling me all this?” He doesn't look her in the eye.

 

“Because, I want you to know I'm genuine. You don't seem very trusting,” she chuckles, but Dean stays quiet.

 

“I have another kid back home – same age as you. He could do with some company, ‘cause it's only him and Jo at the moment. Hence why I'm right here, right now.” Ellen speaks again, breaking the previous silence.

 

Dean looks up at her, trying his best to keep a poker face.

 

“Okay.”

 

~

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

~

**_Monday,  
5th July, 1993.  
6.00p.m._ **

 

The last night. It probably feels weirder than it should be. I mean, this has been the loose idea of a ‘home’ for Sam and Dean since they can remember. Sam’s already had a conversation with Hannah this evening. Dean hasn't. He can't wait to leave, but has had this feeling one to many times before. So, another part of him doesn't want to go – at least he knows stability here, somewhat anyway.

 

But, there's always hope.

 

~

**_Tuesday,  
6th July, 1993.  
10.30a.m._ **

 

Hannah helps Dean to carry their cases to Ellen’s truck outside. There's barely any belongings to fit inside the worn out baggage, so they aren't too heavy.

 

Sam, Dean and Hannah are now stood on the porch, as Ellen wanders towards them. “Ready, boys?” Her smile is welcoming, and a calming silent reassurance.

 

They both nod. Sam hugs Hannah, and runs off towards supposed ‘freedom.’ Dean stays for a few seconds, watching Ellen follow after his eager, little brother.

 

“Hey,” he says, looking up at the woman beside him. “If this actually works out… thanks for being bearable,” he mumbles a speech that's been roughly uttered before.

 

She laughs quietly, patting him on the shoulder. “Good luck. It'll work out,” Hannah tells him.

 

She watches the truck drive off, every part of her mindset wishing for the boys to have a good life, an actual family for once. Hannah closes the front door behind her, once the truck is officially out of sight. A new sense of silence falls over the house as she steps fully into the hallway.

 

~

 

The drive back to Ellen’s place is almost an hour long, and it's nice, because she doesn't pester them with one hundred and one life questions. Her house looks to be a fair size, with colourful plants hanging in baskets, and the pale blue paint peeling a little on the outside. It looks well loved, and… it looks like a _home._

 

She carries their cases inside, and instructs Sam and Dean where to leave their shoes. They get lead into the room directly to their left, which turns out to be the living room. Sam peers at the photographs hung up on the wall, and admires the mantelpiece that's beside the TV stand.

 

“Take a seat,” Ellen waves a hand in the direction of a large, comfy looking couch. “I'll be right back.”

 

Sam doesn't hesitate, but Dean stands until she's left the room.

 

“This looks good!” Sam beams, looking at his brother, who's taken the seat to his left.

 

There's an armchair to Sam’s right, with a book and a case – most likely for a pair of reading glasses – resting on it. Maybe that's Ellen’s. A mirror is strategically placed above the mantle, and it reminds Dean of something you find on that antiques show that's always on the television in the daytime. The coffee table in front of them is rather welcoming for Dean's feet – but, he knows better than that.

 

Footsteps align the hallway outside, and Dean unintentionally tenses up. Ellen returns into the living room, followed by a girl who's about seventeen years of age – most likely her daughter, Jo. They both stand before Sam and Dean, probably not meaning to look patronising, but Dean certainly receives that particular vibe.

 

Wondering why they don't introduce themselves quite yet, Dean’s quiet thoughts are explained as a new pair of footsteps travel towards them.

 

“Cas!” Ellen alerts the boy, whose nose is in a book.

 

He looks up, staring face to face with the door he was about to walk directly into. The boy steps to his right slightly, and diverts his route safely inside of the room.

 

“Okay,” their mother figure smiles again. “This is my daughter Jo, and this is my absent minded kid, Castiel!” She ruffles his hair, and the boy closes his book with a snap.

 

He frowns at her, and turns a light shade of red.

 

“And, this is Sam and Dean.” She gestures with both hands towards the two boys sat on the couch before them.

 

“Hi,” Sam smiles, whereas his brother chooses to sit quietly beside him.

 

“Castiel, could you show them to their rooms, please?” Both brothers instantly exchange glances at what Ellen has just asked of him.

 

_Rooms._

 

“Sure,” the boy shrugs, wandering over to the couch. “Hey, I was looking for these!” He swipes up the book and glasses case from the neighbouring armchair, making Sam jump in fright at his sudden outburst.

 

“Anyway, follow me.” Cas says, leading the way out into the hall again.

 

They climb a small flight of stairs, looking at new photos that are framed on the walls. First, Castiel stops outside a closed door, that has the writing ‘knock, please’ painted on its initial coating of white. “This is my room,” he says simply.

 

Next to it, is another closed door. “That's Jo’s,” he explains.

 

The third room is explained to be Ellen’s, and then there's an unoccupied bedroom a little way along the corridor, beside the bathroom. In the gap between the two bedrooms, Cas leads them up another, smaller set of stairs. Up there are three different rooms. The first door they come to is open, and it has Dean’s suitcase sat in the middle of the floor.

 

“Which one of you is Dean?” Castiel asks, ignoring the confused looks on each brother’s faces.

 

Sam points to Dean.

 

“Cool. This is your room,” he states. “And, this is yours.”

 

Dean wanders tentatively inside, first of all noticing the small mattress set out on the floor, close to the bed of his own. He doesn't ask whom it may be for, since Cas has already headed downstairs again.

 

Meanwhile, Sam is looking around his new bedroom. He's never had a room of his own before – well, not technically. The one time he did, he doesn't like to remember. The kid opens up his suitcase, immediately placing his few books onto what looks like a DIY job of a bookcase, and then he neatly puts his teddy bear directly in the centre of his bed. He stands back to admire it, and turns to the window closeby. He can see the small backyard, and smiles at a bird that flies by. He thinks he's going to like it here.

 

~

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

~

 

**_Tuesday,  
6th July, 1993.  
9.17p.m._ **

 

Dean isn't at all startled when he hears his bedroom door creak open, and the sound of quiet footsteps padding along the carpeted floor. Still pretending to be asleep, he hears shuffling around on the floor.

 

When he wakes up the next morning, his little brother is sure enough safely tucked up inside of his duvet on the mattress beside Dean’s bed.

 

~

 

**_Wednesday,  
7th July, 1993.  
8.00a.m._ **

 

Since they’re living in a new area and don't attend the catchment school, Sam and Dean have to get the school bus from now on. It's a fifteen minute drive – Ellen takes them, before she heads off to work in her local cafe – and, the bus journey itself takes about half an hour. So, by the time they arrive at school there's only ten minutes before the bell rings.

 

Dean doesn't favour getting the bus, nor does he favour everybody in his grade on said bus knowing that he's moved homes. I mean, it was always hard trying to keep it a secret that he lived in social housing. Once one idiot found out, everyone who wanted to fit in would join the fun in teasing him. He learned to ignore it, try to befriend a few popular kids and pretend to fit in. But, when people started picking on Sammy… his detention slips grew faster, like his teachers weren't worried enough about things like his mismatched grades.

 

“The bus isn't so bad,” Sam shrugs, walking up the steps to get into school.

 

“Says the kid who actually likes math.”

 

“Shut up,” his younger brother frowns, running to catch up with Dean – who's already heading into the building.

 

The pair dodge students and teachers aligning the corridor, and then hurry inside of their registration rooms before gaining a late slip.

 

~

 

**_1 month later…_  
Wednesday,  
7th August, 1993.  
1.30p.m.**

 

Dean’s footsteps hit the sidewalk with such force, it's as if he's trying to transfer his anger downwards. He'd truly underestimated how long the walk back to Ellen’s would be – despite considering about twice each day since he'd started catching the school bus.

 

It seems as if it's taken him hours by the time he actually turns into the right block, when taking him only an hour and a half really. He has a key to the house (so does Sam), just incase he needed to come back anytime that nobody was there. Like, now being one of those times.

 

But, strangely enough, the door isn't locked. He twists the handle, and quietly steps inside. Immediately Dean is faced with a shocked looking Jo. “Dean?!” She asks, gripping her bowl of popcorn as if she's just seen a ghost.

 

“What the hell are you doing here?” He asks, pushing the door shut behind him.

 

“Okay… first of all – what're _you_ doing here? Second – please don't tell my Mom. Third – what happened to you?” The young blonde reels off question after question.

 

“I asked first.” He grumbles, folding his arms over his blood stained flannel shirt.

 

She rolls her eyes. One thing he's learned the most about her, is that she's rather heavy on the attitude front. “Fine. I'm skipping school – not exactly sure why I have to talk to you anyway… it is _my_ house, after all.”

 

“I never asked to be here,” Dean snaps back, walking past her and into the kitchen down the hall.

 

He hears her follow close behind, and grinds his teeth – a habit to help him deal with situations where he's angry. “I didn't mean it that way,” Jo says.

 

She puts the bowl of popcorn onto the old wooden table centre room, and walks over to the sink. There's now small dots of red inside of it, so Jo switches on the tap to wash them away. After retrieving a cloth from an above cupboard, Jo runs it under the cold water.

 

“Here,” Jo says, but Dean doesn't accept the offer. “Okay then… what happened to you, anyway?” The girl perseveres with the clearly unwanted conversation, and grabs a bag of frozen peas from the freezer on the opposite side of the room.

 

He takes a seat, and presses the cold cloth to the cut on his forehead. “Not exactly sure why I have to talk to you anyway –”

 

“Alright, smartass.” Jo smirks, handing him the bag of peas.

 

“But,” he continues on, “I saw some kids in Sam’s grade, laughing in the cafeteria. Heard them talking about my brother, confronted them, and then… their elder brothers confronted me.”

 

Jo sits in the chair opposite him. “You got suspended, didn't you?”

 

“Don't tell Sammy.” He sighs quietly. “I kinda made this promise to him that, uh, this –” Dean waves his index finger in front of his injured complexion, “wouldn't happen again.”

 

“I wo –” Jo is cut short, at the sound of the front door opening for a second time today.

 

Both of them look at one another, slight panic plastered upon each face. “Shh!” She whispers to him, and then proceeds to carefully sneak out into the hallway, just hoping that Ellen isn't home early.

 

~

 


End file.
